He spoke quietly and courteously; nevertheless they realized, after a short pause in which their minds groped for the meaning of his words, that he was being definitely insulting. Edith’s face seemed to swell up to twice its size, her eyes bulged and she began a loud and unsteady tirade, quavering with hysteria but heavy with menace. Robert, on the other hand, had no difficulty in selecting the basic attitude proper for him to adopt. His mouth tightened, he squared his shoulders, and he moved forward, lightly and yet decisively, like Ronald Colman. When his crisp and well-timed ‘That’s enough of that sort of talk’ had failed to penetrate to Charles’s consciousness, and Edith’s cackle had begun to take on a distinct flavour of tears, Ronald Colman disappeared, and in his place stood Stewart Granger, dangerous, alert, powerful. He grasped Charles by the lapel of his jacket. For an instant surprise gripped Charles and held him motionless. How quickly, how fatally, the situation had developed! So now, finally, he had put himself in the wrong. ‘Quite abusive. In fact Robert had to put him out. Impossible to have him in the house again.’

Robert’s pouchy, inane face was thrust aggressively into his. Hell! They could have it if they wanted it. With a sudden twist he broke free, lunged across to the sink and snatched up the washing-up bowl. Edith had just finished washing up when he arrived, and for some reason she had not thrown the water away. Half of the scummy grey flood poured over Charles himself as he dragged the bowl wildly out of the sink, but the other half cas­caded gloriously as, with a tremendous sense of release, he swung it round. Almost simultaneously three sounds filled the kitchen—the water’s gulping splash, Edith’s loud squealing, and the clatter of the empty bowl landing in a corner. It had hardly landed before Charles clawed open the back door and rushed out. A backward glance showed him Edith’s face framed in wisps of wet hair, and Robert trying to blink the soap from his eyes.